


Save me from myself

by Jonah_Smith_907



Category: Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, I wrote this in two or three hours, IT'S ANGSTY OKAY, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Peter is being forced to do bad things, So much angst, TRIGGER WARNING ANYWAY, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Vomiting, Why Did I Write This?, honestly man this shit is angsty, idk how to tag this, like...a lot of fluff, not that prominent though, suicide ideation, the Avengers don't like that, this story has developed into some serious fluff at chapter 4 and following
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-02
Updated: 2018-09-24
Packaged: 2019-07-05 03:04:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15854931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jonah_Smith_907/pseuds/Jonah_Smith_907
Summary: At some point he stopped sleeping. His grades slipped, his vision blurred. He hadn't gone home in two weeks, couldn't bear the emptiness of the apartment. He didn't remember the last time he'd eaten.His teachers noticed. They noticed the way he fell asleep in class, only to startle awake seconds later with haunted eyes. They noticed the bags under his eyes. They noticed the way he smelled like sweat and rain and blood. They noticed his collarbones, growing more prominent every day. They noticed the bruises and cuts.They said nothing.I'm a little bit sorry for what I did to Peter, tbh. And to May. And I suck at summaries apparently. Just give it a try, it's pure angst and I'm proud of it





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please tell me if anything doesn't add or something, I read through it exactly once after I was finished. 
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING: please beware of the suicide ideation and the referenced rape, stay safe

He didn't know how he'd gotten into this mess. He didn't even know when exactly it had started, all those weeks ago. It had been at least four weeks since he'd given in. Since he'd started doing things, things he'd sworn he'd never do. Things, that broke him. 

Even Ned had begun avoiding him. 

'Fair enough', Peter thought. 'I can't blame him for being scared.' He tried not to think about _why_ his best friend was scared of him, but given that he had to do these bad, bad things every night, he didn't really get around the crushing thoughts.

At some point he stopped sleeping. His grades slipped, his vision blurred. He hadn't gone home in two weeks, couldn't bear the emptiness of the apartment. He didn't remember the last time he'd eaten.

His teachers noticed. They noticed the way he fell asleep in class, only to startle awake seconds later with haunted eyes. They noticed the bags under his eyes. They noticed the way he smelled like sweat and rain and blood. They noticed his collarbones, growing more prominent every day. They noticed the bruises and cuts.

They said nothing. 

As for Flash, he didn't notice anything. Or maybe he just ignored it. Until one day he took it too far. At that point, Peter hadn't slept in 72 hours and hadn't had a shower in even longer. Much longer. And Flash kept picking on him, kept insulting him, his looks, his grades, his friends who were no longer his friends – and then his aunt. 

“I bet she hates you.”, the bully snickered and pushed Peter into a locker. “I bet she would love nothing more than to get rid of you.”

And Peter snapped. He just couldn't – he couldn't do this any more, going to school, learning things that didn't matter, putting up with a bully, seeing the people he was once close to, once, all those weeks ago.

So now, when Flash went in to shove the other boy once again, Peter let out a low growl, leaped forward and punched him in the guts, sending him flying through the hall. Out of habit, he webbed the bully to the floor. He didn't even think about what that might mean for him. 

For a brief moment, the entire mass of students that had been there with them, froze in shock and went silent. 

Then Flash rolled over and vomited all over the floor, heaving in shallow breaths. Then Peter stumbled backwards a few steps until he tripped over his backpack and fell to the floor. Then somebody screamed – and people came running towards him, trying to get a hold of him, trying to kick him, punch him, to keep him from getting away.

Without thinking, the brunette shouldered his bag, shot out a web and hauled himself to the ceiling. Again there was a brief moment of shocked silence. Perhaps the other kids had thought – or hoped – it wasn't _him_ , that it wasn't Spider-Man, that they were safe.

Peter started crawling to the exit, ignoring the various things that were being thrown at him. Of course he'd played with the thought of just leaving school and focussing on the important things, but aunt May's pleading eyes had kept him from doing it.

But now, with his identity blown, he knew he didn't have a choice. Maybe it was better this way, though. Maybe now it'd be easier. Maybe now he could just stop _caring_ about all the things he did. Had done. Was going to do. 

 

That night he broke into some millionaire's house and cracked her safe, stealing everything inside it. He hadn't been told whether it was something of importance, or just something valuable. The image of aunt May in his head had kept him from asking questions. Questions would only hurt her. He would hurt her. 

He knew, he'd been there. With her, the day he'd given in. She had cried and screamed and yelled at him to stay strong, to refuse his orders. And then he'd held a gun to her head. And he had said yes.

 

The next day he realized that he couldn't even go out in his normal clothes any more. There was police everywhere, looking for a Peter Parker, handing out pictures and descriptions, the signalment reading 'dangerous to the public!' 

So he kept his head low, hidden under his hood, trying to find something to eat. He gave up when a child recognized him and started screaming.

It took him ten minutes to get rid of the people chasing him. 

After that he spent another ten minutes puking. Nothing came up. Perhaps he should be worried about the fact that his stomach was more than empty, but he couldn't find it in him to care. Maybe he'd die. So what? 

 

This night was worse. Peter knew he was screwed the second he got up and collapsed as his legs gave out. He nearly started crying then. Nearly. He punched the floor instead. 

And then he got to work. He only ever got messages on his phone. A burner phone. Untraceable. Another bank, apparently. 

Before he even got there, he got the strange sensation of being followed. He changed his direction and let himself fall onto a rooftop. He didn't even try to lessen his impact on the hard ground. He got up with a groan and staggered to the side a few steps. 

He lifted his gaze in time to see Iron Man landing in front of him, blasters raised at him. 

“Well then, hello kid.”, Stark said. “You are Peter, I take it?”

He would have quipped something back, _before_. Something witty and funny. But now he wasn't sure how to answer that question. Was he really Peter? The nerd, the A-Student, the friend, the friendly-neighbourhood-Spider-Man? “I don't know.” He shouldn't have said it. Shouldn't have shown weakness. 

Iron Man seemed taken aback at that answer, lowering his hands a little. Then he seemed to remember why he was here. “Either way, I gotta take you in.”

“Not today.” Peter ran a few steps, then he jumped off the roof and started swinging away. And suddenly he was falling, falling so fast.

He crashed into the ground, all the air being forced out of his lungs, all his strength – or what was left of it – leaving his weakened body. After what seemed like an eternity, his vision sharpened again. There were people standing in front of him, eyeing him suspiciously, ready to throw things at him.

He was used to it by now. 

Then there was the sound of Starks suit, coming closer and closer and Peter jumped to his feet, running off into an alley and disappearing into the next sewer. He didn't care about the dirty water or the smell. He just knew he had to get away from that man. 

Then he remembered why he'd been out in the first place and let out a groan that sounded suspiciously like a sob. He had to deliver, otherwise he would get him and _hurt_ him. Hurt him and aunt May. He always hurt aunt May. One way or the other. 

Peter didn't go out any more that night. He could hear Iron Man flying over the city, always looking, never leaving. 

He was taken only a few hours later, when he first dared to leave the sewer. He was hit in the head and everything went dark. His first 'sleep' in over 4 days.

 

“Itsy bitsy Spider, wakey-wakey!”, was the first thing Peter registered when he finally came to, slowly, feeling as if he was underwater. “I just wanna talk. How 's that sound, huh?”

“S's not my fault.”, the teen mumbled. He cracked open his eyes, not surprised to find the room he was in dipped in darkness, only a single light-bulb over their heads illuminating a small space. It looked like a warehouse. He didn't even try to wipe over his face; he knew his hands were tied to the chair he was sitting on, even though he'd probably be able to free himself. But he couldn't risk his aunt to get hurt. “Iron Man was there.”

“Oh, but itsy bitsy Spider isn't supposed to lie now, is he?” The man snickered and stepped behind Peter, massaging his tense shoulders in false kindness. “Tell me the truth, little child, did you get scared?”

“N-no, he was – he tried to catch me, but I ran.” He took a shaky breath. Then he noticed that something was missing. Somebody. “Where's aunt May?”

“Don't worry, I just had a little bit of fun with her. She's sleeping now.”

“What did you do to her?” Peter could feel his breath getting shallower by the second, picking up on speed as dread pooled in his stomach. His voice was nothing more than a whisper when he repeated: “What did you do?”

A hot stinging pain burned through his cheek as the man slapped him, hard. “You know I don't like it when you ask questions.”, he said softly. “I just had to follow the need every man has.”

“Oh god.” If he had had something in his stomach, he would have puked. “Oh god, no!”

“Well. Let's get back to business then, shall we?”

Except that they didn't. Couldn't. Because before either of them could say another word, the roof exploded. 

The next few minutes went by in a blur, Peter only heard people yelling things, loud shouts, guns being cocked. Then he saw aunt May – and the world froze. 

She seemed barely conscious, her eyes kept falling closed, she was holding on to the arm around her neck with both hands, not even registering the gun to her temple.

People talked, negotiated, threatened. Somebody was kneeling in front of Peter, probably trying to get his attention, but he couldn't take his eyes off his aunt; her eyes, her nose, her freckles, her lips, forming words. What words? 

I love you. 

The shot was loud and brutal and left Peter's heart in a thousand pieces.

He launched himself off the chair, barely noticing the pain shooting through his wrists as the ropes snapped. He scrambled to his feet and stumbled over to the body on the floor that resembled May, warm blood soaking his suit – that godforsaken suit – as he fell down next to her, stroking her hair, mumbling incoherent words, trying desperately to get her to respond, to bring her back to life as his tears dropped on her cheek. 

Then suddenly there were hands on him, pulling him back, holding him down, attempting to get him to calm down, but he couldn't, wouldn't, didn't want to! If he'd been in a better condition, he would have been able to push the other man off, but like this, he was barely able to stay awake.

“Calm down, son.”, a familiar voice spoke into his ear, firm and soft and _soothing_. Why was he being kind? Peter was a criminal, weak and evil, not some child that deserved kindness! But the hand in his hair, gently scraping over his scalp, made him cry only harder as he stretched out his hands until he fund the two arms of the man holding him, and dug his fingers into them, holding on for dear life.

He just wanted this to be over! He wanted to disappear or die or _both_! 

The man seemed to realize that there wasn't any more resistance left in the boy, so he gently lifted him off the floor, holding him tightly to his chest. It was barely two moments later, that Peter passed out, the tracks of his tears clear on his dirty face, hands clawing to the man's jacket. 

Maybe he'd be okay. But how could he, now that aunt May was dead?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked it, lemme know in the comments :) I also hope you don't hate me now
> 
> I haven't really planned a second chapter, so let me know if you want one and what you want it to contain. Probs fluff I guess. I'd also explain what exactly Peter did in those weeks.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is the chapter I wrote two hours after the first one and it is not as fluffy as I had intended but I'm not sad about it. 
> 
> However, I did not have it in me to read over it again today because I had a really shitty night so if you find anything weird please let me know.

Peter woke up to a pounding and oddly light head and feeling like he was laying on a cloud. It was the softest thing he'd felt in over two weeks which felt like forever, looking back. Although he didn't know where he was. He hadn't dared to open his eyes yet, too overwhelming was the fear of what he might see, of what he might remember.

If he opened his eyes, everything would be real and life would be broken into shards.

Suddenly somebody spoke, voice kept quiet and low: “I think he's waking up.” There was some shuffling, coming closer. “Hey Peter.” It was the same voice as before, the voice of the man who had held him down when- “Open your eyes. You're safe, we're not going to hurt you.”

The teen just shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut even tighter, blocking out any noise, hands balled into fists as he tried not to lose control.

“C'mon kid, it's okay.” That was Stark. He sounded worried. Why did he sound worried?

Peter wasn't able to form another thought before he passed out again, sleep claiming his tired body.

 

The next time he woke up, his head felt better. Heavier, but better. After a few deep breaths, he finally cracked open his eyes and couldn't help but squeezing them shut again when he was met with bright light. It worked better on the second attempt.

What he saw was … confusing, to say the least. It looked like a hospital room, but somewhat more private. There was no beeping from machines, no rattling breaths of sick people, no low humming of people talking.

It was quiet. And that was scary. 

Peter was about to swing his aching legs out of the bed he was laying in to investigate this place, when a door opened and two men stepped in. He quickly turned on his side, back to the intruders, and pretended to be asleep. 

In the end he didn't know what had given him away. Whether it'd been his worried frown, his iron grip on the blanket or his breathing that was too fast. 

One of the men rounded the bed and looked at the teen in it, sighing heavily. “We know you're awake, kid.”

Slowly, as if something was weighing him down, Peter rolled onto his back and sat up, knees pulled to his chest, wide eyes flitting from one man to the other. He recognized both of them. For one, there was Tony Stark, dressed in an expensive suit and tired eyes. The other one was Steve Rogers in a jumper and a worried frown. He'd been the one to carry Peter, he realized, and wasn't sure what he thought about that.

For a few moments, nobody said a word. Then the teen spoke up with shaking voice: “Where am I?”

“Stark Tower. Med-bay.”, the billionaire answered smoothly. “Do you know why you're here?”

“B-because I um ...” He drew in a shaky breath, fear boiling in his guts. “because I did some bad things.”

“Yeah about that …” Tony pulled up a chair and sat down. He shot Steve a short glance before he continued: “He forced you to do it, didn't he?”

The tears spilled over before Peter had the chance to even notice them. He nodded, not even trying to deny it. What would be the point?

“Peter...” That was Steve again. He sounded different than on those videos they'd had to watch in school. More serious. Warm. “For how long did he … did he torture you until you gave in?”

The teen gave him a puzzled look. “Should be gone by now.”, he mumbled and looked down. “Shouldn't be visible.”

“The scars, you mean? Because you have enhanced healing?” How'd Stark know that? “We scanned you.” Ah. Great. “So, how long?”

“Um … a-a week? Maybe?”

“Maybe??”

“I dunno, don't remember. Wasn't really conscious most of the time.” He wished he wasn't conscious right now.

“Jesus Christ.” Steve sighed. “How old are you?”

“I …” This wasn't what was supposed to happen. Why were they being friendly? He should be in a cell, suffering for the crimes he'd committed. Maybe if he just refused to talk to them, they'd lock him away. He certainly deserved it and that way he'd at least know how to feel about them. “I don't think I want to talk to you.”

“Why not? Because you did some stupid things? Which by the way you didn't have a choice about doing?” Tony huffed out a dry laugh. “Kid, we're not here to punish you. We just want to know if we can trust you.”

“But I don't trust you either.” They shouldn't trust him. He wasn't worthy of their trust. Wasn't worthy of their care. Of anything.

Steve sighed again. He seemed to do that a lot. “Is there somebody you _would_ trust?”

“Not any more. I hurt him.”

“Listen-”

“Tony. Maybe we should just let him rest for a little bit.”

Peter swallowed uncomfortably before he worked up the courage to ask: “Um … one thing. For how long have I been out?”

“Roughly three days. You seemed pretty exhausted. We'd already gotten a little worried.”

All colour drained from Peter's face as realization struck him. Three days. It'd been three days since aunt May had died. Three days since the horror had ended. And a whole new kind had begun. He lay back down and rolled onto his side, bringing the blanket up to his face, burying himself in it, blocking out the world. He didn't even care that the two men were probably staring at him, didn't care that they thought he was weak, didn't care that he they could attack him any moment. He just didn't care any more. 

Everything he'd ever cared about had been taken away from him, his parents, his uncle, now his aunt, his friends, Spider-Man. Everything he'd ever loved. 

And with anxiety flooding his body, he realized that he was alone now. Utterly, and completely alone. 

 

“Steve, I'm gonna go to the kid's school and see if he had any friends there.” Tony ran a hand through his hair. “Tell Bruce to come up later and take a look at him. And to make him eat. He looks like a skeleton.”

“Sure. Call me if you find somebody.” Steve hesitated. “What do you think did that man do to him?”

“I don't even want to think about it.”

 

Tony Stark was in his school. Better yet, he was standing in his class and staring at him, talking. Ned swallowed down his excitement and shifted in his seat. “Wh-at?”, he croaked. 

“I said,”, the mechanic repeated with an annoyed look. “that we have Peter. He's in bad shape and the whole evil Spider-Man thing wasn't really his fault. The man whose fault it is had his aunt. And now we have him, that fucker.” Tony looked around the gaping students and narrowed his eyes at the sight of on of them paling more and more with every second. He'd talk to him later, he decided. “So, you wanna go and see your friend?”

“Yeah, yes, of course!” Ned jumped to his feet and stuffed his things into his backpack as quickly as possible. How could he have been this stupid?! He shouldn't have left Peter alone, shouldn't have believed everyone else. Then he thought about the day his best friend had told him to stay away. Had told him that it was all true. Ned gritted his teeth. What a selfless idiot. “Sure.”

They left behind a very disturbed class, but neither of them was worried about that at the moment. They worried about more important things.

 

“We don't know how he'll react. Try and be subtle.”

Ned gave Steve – holy mother of waffles, Captain America!!!! – a sad smile and replied: “I know him. I know what he needs.” And with that he entered the room. 

Truth was, he didn't have a single clue about what he was supposed to do. He had neglected his best friend, had left him to deal alone with the whole shit-storm and now he somehow had to fix this mess. 

He grew only more anxious when he approached the heap under the blanket on the bed. He cleared his throat. “Hey Pete.”

The heap flinched. Then a head emerged from underneath and wide eyes stared at him, tears ready to spill, lower lip trembling. 

“Tony Stark came by to look for somebody you'd … be more likely to trust and they found me.” He slowly shuffled closer. “I know I was a shitty friend and that I should've stayed with you.” 'Don't cry don't cry don't cry don't cry' “And I'm sorry.” His voice cracked and tears started streaming down his cheeks, eyebrows furrowed, hands shaking. Crap. He was supposed to be strong, was supposed to keep his composure! For Peter. “I really am.”

Without saying a single word, Peter opened his arms and let Ned climb into the bed, both of them immediately clinging to each other like their lives depended on it, crying and and sobbing and shaking, until eventually they didn't have any strength left. Peter buried his face in Ned's shoulder and kept holding onto him, Ned held him close and firm. 

After a few minutes of silence, Peter finally spoke up, voice merely a whisper: “He threatened to kill my aunt, Ned, he – he hurt me. So much, for so long and then he kidnapped her and held a gun to her head and I couldn't – couldn't say no any more, I had to – and then I did all those things and people started hating me and then you – you still stood by me but I couldn't risk you getting hurt, so I – I – and then he killed her!” A wave of nausea washed over him. “He hurt her real bad and then he shot her in the head.”

It was bad, so bad, so much worse than Ned had thought, so much more than he'd been prepared to deal with, so much more that was being loaded onto his heart, making him ache and pray Peter hadn't actually seen any of the brutality towards May. He just wanted to make him feel okay, to help him; he just wanted to have his best friend back. 

His best friend, who had gotten so terribly skinny, bags and dark circles underneath his eyes still prominent and dark and _scary_. 

“It's gonna be okay, Pete.” He gently stroked over the other one's hair, still holding him close, still holding him firm. “It's over now. You're okay. I'm back. We're gonna be okay.”

“I've lost everything, Ned.” Even his sanity?

“You've still got me.”

“I thought I'd lost you too.”

“You never did. Not really. I always hoped it was some kind of mistake. I love you too much to just suddenly lose all faith in you.” 

That last sentence was lost in the blurry haze that was sleep, taking Peter with it, letting his grip loosen, breath calming, muscles relaxing. And Ned held him tight and ran a hand through his brown curls and rubbed circles into his back.

They were going to be okay. They had to. Otherwise, they would both break. If Peter hadn't already.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm not actually shipping Peter and Ned, but I guess this can be read as slashy?? Let me know if you want it to be slashy or not.
> 
> Also I'll explain everything that lead to Peter being in this situation in the next chapter, which might be the last one.


	3. Chapter 3

“So.” Tony looked at Peter, who was still sitting in bed. He had set up a microphone to record the following conversation. “What happened?”

“... what exactly do you mean?” Peter wasn't even looking at him, but staring at his hands, fidgeting with the blanket. He didn't want to talk about this, didn't want to relive the horror, didn't want to, and everyone could see it.

“Well how did this whole … situation begin?”

The teen inhaled sharply shot a pleading look at Ned, who was by now sitting in a chair on the other side of the bed, shrugging apologetically. Peter nodded to himself. He could do this. “He was about to rob a bank when I came and he uh he managed to knock me out. A-and he um he took my mask. I … I woke up in that warehouse, alone, in that chair. He'd cuffed me to it.”

“Couldn't you have just broken them?”

“No they were reinforced. I don't even know where he got them from.”

“But when we found you, it was just some ropes?” Tony frowned. 

“I-I … he knew” His voice cracked and broke down into a whisper. “he knew I wouldn't try to do anything. He had aunt May.” Ned took one of Peter's hands in his and squeezed it, Peter squeezed back.

“Oh. Okay.” Fuck. This was going to be an emotional roller-coaster and Tony knew it.

“Well. At first he thought he could bribe me to work for him, but I said no. So he um … he – he started hurting me?” 'Please don't make me say it, please don't, don't don't, I can't!'

“Can you tell me what exactly he did?” Did he really want to know it though? Tony decided it wasn't important what he wanted right now. He just had to get through this.

Peter shook his head, desperately fighting back the tears. “N-no. No. He hurt me.”

“Okay. That's fine.” 'You're fine, Pete, it's fine, relax!' “What happened then?”

“He started threatening me. You know, like that he'd kill everyone I love and I said there is nobody left and then he – he … the next time I woke up, aunt May was tied to a chair in front of me.”

“Shit.” Ned held Peter's hand even tighter now, Peter nearly bruised his in return. 

“So I said yes. And then I started robbing banks and people and – and – all that.”

“What happened to the people you had to kidnap?” Tony had a feeling what the answer would be, yet he hoped he was wrong. He really really hoped he was wrong.

Peter shook his head once more, brows furrowed, tears running down his cheeks. “They're dead now.”

It was silent in the room after that. Ned had by now started crying too, while Tony's usually sarcasm-filled eyes had turned into swirling oceans of emotions. 

“What's gonna happen now?”, Peter eventually asked, voice small and scratchy.

“Well, erm, considering that you really didn't have a choice but do what that prick told you to do, _and_ considering that you're a minor, we can't punish you. It would be wrong. But, you also don't have any legal guardians any more, so it's your decision, really. You can either go into the system and hope to find a nice family, or you can stay with us.”

“I-I'm sorry, what?” The teen stared at the man in utter disbelief. “Why would you want me to stay with you??”

“Well, you're the friendly-neighbourhood-spider-man. And you seem like a good kid. We can take care of you, train you and make sure you don't get into trouble.”

“But … but why?”

“Dude, just say yes, that's the best thing that could happen to you!”, Ned exclaimed, even though he tried to stay relatively quiet. It did not work very well. “Like … ever!”

“We'd be happy to.” Tony smiled encouragingly at the teen. “Steve and I talked this over with the others already and they said they'd be really excited to meet you.”

“Good excited or bad excited?” Peter raised a brow.

“A mix of both.” The older man grinned. “I'm sure everything will work out just fine.”

“I guess I have no choice then.”

“You do. We won't force you to do anything, but we've heard you're good in Physics and stuff and I would love to show you some of my labs. Also I think Clint likes you already. He said he wants to cook for you, although I'd advise against that. Last time he tried to cook something, he set the oven on fire.”

Peter's face turned a nice shade of scarlet at the compliment. He cleared his throat and nodded. “Okay. Okay, I'll stay.” He turned his head to glance at Ned, who definitely looked like he'd just seen an angel. Or, better yet, all the Avengers at once. “When will I be able to go back to school?”

“Um … I don't know if that's such a good idea.”, his friend spoke up, but avoided the other's eyes. “Everyone is talking about you and all the things you did and they don't really like you.”

“Tell me what else is new.”, Peter huffed. “As long as Flash doesn't try to sue me, I'm gonna be fine.”

“Actually, he did try.”, the mechanic interrupted them. “But I made a point by showing them video-footage of that Flash-kid harassing you. Also I kinda threatened to make sure he'd never get a place at a good college if he did anything like that again. So I think you're good.” He wasn't quite able to ban the pride out of his voice.

“Um … okay … that's good. I guess. Thanks” The teen swallowed his confusion. This had to be a dream. Nowhere in hell, would the Avengers, _the_ Avengers, want him to live with them and _cook_ for him. This was crazy! “So when will I be allowed to leave this … room?”

“In a few days you should be back to normal. Meanwhile, Steve and Clint are going to get your stuff from your apartment over here so you can decide which things you want to keep.”

“Thank you.”

“It's okay.”

“No, I mean it. Thank you.”

Tony leaned forward and gently rand a hand through the teen's hair. “You only deserve it. You've gone through enough terrible things for a lifetime.” He didn't notice the look of awe on Ned's face as he gaped at the billionaire. And if he had, he wouldn't have cared. He liked Peter. He seemed nice and smart and so damn _good_ , and Tony only wanted to make him feel better. 

He only wanted to make him feel loved. 

 

The day Peter left the Med-bay and was given his room on Tony's and Pepper's floor (which … crazy), was slightly awkward. Of course the Avengers knew – technically – what had happened to Peter and how that had led to his _crimes_ , but they were still very suspicious of him. Cautious. 

Now he was on the common floor, in front of two assassins, two super-soldiers and a scientist who sometimes turned into a destructive green giant, while Tony Stark was standing behind him, one hand on his shoulder. The teen wasn't entirely convinced that it was a gesture of support, but rather a way of stopping him from bolting.

It didn't exactly calm his nerves that he had to stand in front of the Avengers, staring at them with wide eyes. They stared right back. 

Then Hawkeye – Clint – suddenly grinned at the teen and stepped forward, taking him by his arm and pulling him towards the others. “I'm Clint,” he pointed at the Black Widow. “This is Tasha.” Then he boxed Steve in the shoulder. “This patriotic mountain of muscles is Stevie and his lover-boy Bucky.” The archer dodged a punch Barnes swung at him and stuck his tongue out. Next, he went to introduce Bruce, but Peter cut him off.

“I know him. I read your book.” He gave the scientist a shy smile. “It was brilliant.”

“You … you uh understood that?” Bruce frowned, but an impressed grin played around his lips.

“Yeah. I was bored in English lesson.” Peter shrugged, a blush spreading over his cheeks. 

“Well, I told you he's smart.”, Tony chuckled and walked over to the couch, where he flopped down and opened a bag of crisps. “Now. Don't kill each other, we gotta talk about a few things.”

“And what things would that be?”, Bucky asked and joined the mechanic on the couch. 

“We have to tell people about Peter. Explain a few things.”

“You mean a press conference?” Steve sighed. “Do I have to be there?”

“Yep, you were there when we found him, so you need to be there and answer some questions. Also you gotta make sure I don't say anything stupid. Pepper said so.”

“Dammit.” 

“Language.” Natasha winked at the man. 

“Do I have to be there, too?”, Peter quietly asked. 

“Um … I mean yeah.” Tony gave him an apologetic look. “People need to see that you're not dangerous and also that you are protected by us.”

“Why?”

“So they don't try to kill you any more.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this wasn't too different from the other two chapter. I'm just having a hard time writing right now and the last one (or two) chapters are going to take forever. Sorry about that, I hope you still enjoyed it.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: non graphic self harm, mentions of cuts
> 
> Sorry, but this is a shorter chapter.

The press conference was … scary. There were so many people in there, reporters, flashing cameras, their clicking sounds almost too loud in Peter's ears. He had no idea what he was supposed to do. He was just kind of sitting there, in front of all those people, Mr. Stark and and Mr. Rogers on either of his sides, both calm and in control of the situation. 

And then there was the talking. The two Avengers explained what had happened, explained how it had come to _this_ , explained how much the teen had gone through. They didn't give any details, though. 

For the whole time, Peter didn't say a single word. He didn't look up, didn't talk, didn't react to occasional questions being yelled at him, didn't even listen. He was too focused on keeping his panic at bay, trying really hard to keep his breathing even. 

Until suddenly, Tony nudged Peter's arm before saying: “We will take questions now.”

Immediately everybody in the room started shouting, one louder than the other, half-sentences falling into an incoherent mix of words, making no sense to the anxious teen. 

Then Steve spoke up, calm, but loud enough to drown the others: “Only one question at the time.”

After that, it was quieter. The reporters looked at Peter expectantly, as the first man got to ask: “For how long did he torture you before you gave up?”

Peter nearly choked. He was ready to leave, now! There was no need to relive all these things for a third time. And yet, he knew he had to answer. Give the pack what it wants. “He held me captive for about a week.”, he forced out, surprised by how steady his voice sounded. 

“Why did you do what he wanted from you in the end?”, a woman asked. 

“Um … he um he had my aunt. And he hurt her. Badly.” He raised his eyebrows in the attempt of stopping his tears, but it didn't help much. “I had to protect her.”

“What about the people of New York? Why didn't you protect them?”, she continued. 

The question, that sounded much more like an accusation, hit the teen in the stomach like a bullet, leaving him breathless and hot and cold. He didn't know how to answer. Because in the end, wasn't she right? Wasn't it his job to protect the people? To protect them. Not hurt them. He had hurt them. It was his fault that people were scared, his fault that people were dead, his fault that Aunt May was dead. 

His fault.

How was he supposed to respond to something that hurt so much, yet it was so true? How could he?

In the end, Tony was the one who saved him from having to answer, voice strained and angry, one hand on Peter's arm, the other one balled into a fist. “Because it shouldn't be a fifteen year old kid who saves your asses. It never should have been him! He only tried to help, and what did he get?? Torture, a dead aunt, and people like you” Now he pointed at the woman with an accusing finger. “people like you, who think they are allowed to give him shit for it. Because let me tell you, you are not! None of this was his fault and I will not let anybody tell him otherwise! You hear me? If you do, I will lawyer you into next Tuesday!” 

For about a minute, it was completely quiet in the room. Nobody dared to so much as cough. 

Then Tony got up, gently pulled Peter with him and they took off to the common room, leaving Steve to deal with the rest. And even though the teen wasn't entirely sure how he got back to the top floor and onto the couch, he was glad that he did, because once he was back in the somewhat familiar and light and warm space, he could get in some decent breaths and stopped panting so much, his hands slowly stopping to shake. When he looked up, Tony was crouching in front of him and stared at him with concerned eyes. 

“Are you okay?”, the genius asked. Peter nodded uncertainly, not trusting his voice. “I just want you to know, that it wasn't you fault!” He put a hand on the kid's shoulder, the look in his eyes intensified. “You hear me? It's not your fault!”

Peter wanted to believe it. He really did. But in the end, it was, and there was nothing he could do about it.

And yet, he nodded, faking a smile, agreeing with the older man. Then he forced himself to get up, casually walk to the kitchen and grab a glass of water before going back to the elevator and finding his way to his room.

 

Half an hour later, Tony found him sitting on the bathroom floor, a bloody shard of glass in his limp fingers.

The billionaire froze in his tracks for a brief moment, taking in the scene in front of him as shock washed over him. Then he got moving, falling to his knees in front of the kid, carefully lifting up his chin so he could look him in the eyes. 

“What's all this about, kid?”, he asked with fake confidence, a slight shake in his voice giving him away. This wasn't his thing. He didn't know how to do feelings, didn't know how to comfort somebody in this situation. “Why'd you do that?”

He didn't get an answer. Peter didn't even look at him directly, unfocused eyes aimed at Tony's shoulder. He seemed completely spaced-out, not even aware of the man in front of him. Tony let out a sad sigh, then he gently took the kid's hand in his and took the shard of glass, tossing it into the sink. He tried to ignore the cuts on Peter's lower arm and gently pulled him to his feet.

It took them a while, but finally they were in Tony's bedroom. The genius had thought about just putting the teen to bed in his own room, but then he'd seen the broken glass on the floor and had decided against it. There was no need of triggering Peter once he'd come back to himself. 

Tony pulled back the blanket and guided the younger one to lie down, petting his head in the attempt of providing some comfort. 

Peter didn't close his eyes, just kind of stared into emptiness. His breathing was shaky but in an even rhythm, hands holding on to the blanket with an iron grip. Every now and then he blinked, slowly, heavy. 

For a few minutes, Tony just stood there, debating inside his head whether or not to leave the kid alone, but he wasn't sure that was a good idea. Probably more the opposite of it. So he told Jarvis to notify Steve of what had happened, took off his shoes and climbed into bed next to Peter, softly running a hand through his hair, over and over, until finally he closed his eyes and drifted off into sleep, his grip on the blanket loosening just a tiny bit.  
Tony pulled him closer and kept running a hand through his hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I don't know what this is. I'm not sure I wanted to go this way in the beginning, but now some shit happened and I needed to get it out of my head.
> 
> I'm sorry this took so long, but some other stuff happened that distracted me from writing. I'll try to pick up the pace a bit.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long, but I can't promise the next chapter will follow sooner.

The next morning came and Peter woke up a with a hand in his hair. It took him a second to realize that it wasn't _his_ hand. It took him another few moments to roll around and see Tony Stark laying next to him in bed, fast asleep. 

What the hell was going on? Why would a genius like him want to be this close to a nobody like Peter? It didn't make any sense. This wasn't even his room. It wasn't even … hold on. 

Crap. 

Suddenly he remembered what had happened the evening before. He'd hurt himself on purpose – pathetic, weak, why'd he done that?? - and then Tony had found him and brought him here. There was going to be so many questions, so many uncomfortable talks and the teen didn't want any of it. 

Though that's of course when Tony woke up to Peter staring at him with wide eyes. The billionaire shot up into a seated position, awkwardly rubbing his neck. “Um.”, he intelligently said. “Good morning.”

“...morning.” Wow, this was not at all weird as shit.

“How are you feeling?”

“Okay I guess.”

“Yeah I call bullshit on that.” Tony got up and walked towards the bathroom. “But I think we should talk about that somewhere less … this.” He gestured at the bed with the tangled sheets and a very comfy looking Peter. “Common room, ten minutes.”

 

Said ten minutes later, and Tony entered the common room, finding Peter sitting anxiously on the couch, hands fidgeting. When he heard the elevator opening, he jumped to his feet and took a few steps back. It wasn't so much that he was scared or anything, but he was caught by surprise, he was anxious and he had no idea where this was going or what he was supposed to say or do or think. So he just stayed silent. 

“So.” The mechanic cleared his throat. “Yesterday was rough, huh?”

“I guess.”

“Yeah well, 'I guess' doesn't exactly cut it.”

“Why not? It's a perfectly valid answer.”, the teen – nearly – snapped. Then he blushed, though he didn't back down. He just really didn't want to talk about it, yet at the same time he was faintly aware that it would probably be … healthy. 

“Not about this, it's not.”

“So what do you want me to say? It's not like you care about me.” He huffed out an agitated sigh. “I'm just somebody you had to take in, because I happen to have freak-powers.”

“Hey that's not true!” Tony thought about that statement for a second. “Okay maybe a little bit true, but that doesn't mean we don't care about you! You're just a kid, who's gone through some tough shit that you didn't deserve, so now we're all here to help!”

“And why would you do that?!”

“Because I like you. You're a bright kid and you're nice, when you're not currently snapping at me.”

“Alright, fine!”

“That was another snap.”

“Sorry.”

“Now. Do you want to tell me why you … why you felt the need to hurt yourself yesterday?”

“Not really.”

“Dude, you were completely spaced-out. That can't be healthy!”

“Well I'm sorry!”

“You don't have to be sorry.” Tony sighed and ran a hand over his face in the attempt to calm himself down a little. “I just want to help you.”

“I know. I'm sorry. I just … don't know how to do all this.”

“It's okay. Maybe you can talk to Sam? He knows a little bit about psychology. Maybe he can help.”

“... um … okay?” Whoever the hell Sam was. Peter should at least try it, and if it's only to make Stark happy. He owed the man.

“Okay, great.” The genius gave him a small smile. “See, that's progress.”

“Okay.”

For a few minutes they just stood in the room, slightly awkwardly trying not to stare at each other. Then Tony gestured at the kitchen. “You hungry? Bucky makes fantastic pancakes.” 

“The _Winter Soldier_ makes pancakes??”

“Well, he's not exactly the Winter Soldier anymore, and also he had to cook for lil ol' Stevie-boy back in the day when Cap was still a tiny little noodle.”

“Oh my god, that was the weirdest sentence anybody has ever said to me and I'm friends with Ned.”, Peter snickered, all previous awkwardness vanished in the blink of an eye. 

Tony grinned back at him. It was rather remarkable how fast the kid's mood could change. “So, uh I'll call him up. He's probably not doing anything productive, anyway.” He held back a laugh. “Probably some domestic stuff with Steve.”

“Oh my god, are they like a couple?”

“Well they won't _say_ it, but it's obvious as hell.”

“That is awesome!”

“So you hungry?”

“Yeah.” Peter gave Tony a huge smile, which was immediately returned. “Pretty hungry.”

“Okay, Jarvis, call up Bucky, he got some cooking to do.” 

 

Half an hour later and the kitchen looked like a battlefield, because of course Clint had caught word of what was going on and had insisted on 'helping' with the pancakes. He'd already managed to set the pan on fire once, and he'd spilled flour all over the floor not even ten minutes in. He kept insisting that it had been Bucky's fault, but Steve said it had been totally Clint, who'd tried to juggle with the flour. 

Peter was barely able to help, he had to stop every few seconds with laughter, whenever the archer gave Bucky a dirty look, or when the super-soldier adjusted his pink apron. It said 'Kiss the cook' and Steve kept smirking at the other man, raising an eyebrow and _winking_ , when he thought nobody would watch. Little did he know, that Natasha had instructed Jarvis to film the entire scene for blackmail-purposes. 

At first, Tony had watched Peter joking and laughing with the two Avengers, but then he'd realized that that was probably a little creepy, so he eventually told them that he still had some work to do and he'd see them later. 

“Don't set the kitchen on fire, Clint!”, he said, before stepping into the elevator. “Don't let him set the kitchen on fire, Bucky!”

Peter grinned at the genius and waved, before yelping and trying to catch an egg, which the archer had thrown at him, possibly to annoy Tony. The teen did in the end catch the egg, but it had been thrown at him with too much force, so it cracked in his hand and he let out a disgusted “Ewww!!!” before tossing the mess at Clint, who ducked and it landed on the wall. 

Steve quietly retreated into a different part of the room, where it was quieter and much safer. Or, to put it differently: he hid behind the couch and hoped he wouldn't get hit with anything. 

When Sam entered the common room ten minutes later, he wished he had stayed away. There was batter everywhere, even on the ceiling, but mostly on three grown men and a _teenager_ , who all looked rather embarrassed at the sudden interruption. Well, except for Clint, he nearly doubled over with how hard he was laughing. Which then led to the kid starting to _giggle_. Steve grinned at Sam, winked at him and then leaned over to lick off some batter from Bucky's neck. Bucky was at least able to suppress a moan, but the look of lust on his face kind of made up for that. He pulled the other man up to his face and they started an intense make-out-session, with tongues and hands and everything.

“I'm gonna have to bleach out my eyes after this!”, Clint groaned and held a hand over Peter's eyes. “Don't look at this, Pete, they're disgusting.”

Ah, the famous broken child Tony had adopted. Aka Spiderman. “Just wait until Tony hears about this!” Sam grinned dirtily at the two soldiers, who had suddenly broken apart and were now both flushed and grinning at the others in a mix between embarrassment and mischief. “He's totally gonna beat your asses if he founds out what you did in front of the kid.”

“I mean it's not like I've never seen anything like this before.”, Peter cheekily said, grinning at the other's shocked faces. “What? I'm fifteen, I've seen some things.”

“Yeah, where? On pornhub?”, Clint snickered. 

“I mean it's not like this was that much different … just a few more minutes and they would've been stripping.” Steve nearly choked on air when he heard those words coming out of a kid's mouth. Peter broke out into laughter at the other's expressions. “You should've seen yourselves!” 

Living in the tower was going to be so much fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading; that's it for this one, I'm afraid. I had actually planned on writing another one or two chapters, but I kinda lost inspiration and motivation, so sorry about that.


End file.
